fOreVER
by ibuzoo
Summary: "You should fight for the people Ms. Granger. The people and the world." A sardonic laugh leaves her lips while she tugs the bandana down under her chin and when she answers the words sound hollow in her ears, without any trace of emotions left. "The world's not safe anymore." He doesn't object.


**fOreVER**

**Rating:** M

**Tags:** dystopia / psychological anguish / Sci-Fi / future / rebels / dystopian war / illusions / memory manipulation / scientific experiments

**Summary:** "You should fight for the people Ms. Granger. The people and the world." A sardonic laugh leaves her lips while she tugs the bandana down under her chin and when she answers the words sound hollow in her ears, without any trace of emotions left. "The world's not safe anymore." He doesn't object.

**A/N:** There's a reason the story is based in anomalies, memories and identity protocols but I can't tell you that from the start. I'm actually sure no one will understand the concept of this story until it's finished because there's a serious mindfuck that draws throughout the chapters. It's a dystopian / futuristic war AU where we'll experience both sides. I hope the ones who give it a try will like it. This is part 1 of 9.

**Disclaimer: **This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

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><p><strong>fOreVER<strong>

**ooo**

_Sometimes, one will never know the true value of a moment until it fades away and becomes a memory._

**ooo**

**anomaly**

Lush green culms peck the soft flesh of her soles and caress her rosy skin with tender strokes. She's standing in the middle of a field, her feet grounded to the earth while her toes dig in the squishy dirt of mud and soil that catches in wet little crumbs between the hollows of her bare feet. A soft breeze wafts around her tender body, swirls around her ankles and her thighs with a certain kind of force. It whirls the thin fabric of her white cotton dress up in the air, cools her sun-kissed skin in an instant. Silent whispers fill the sway around her and goosebumps rise on her flawless, creamy flesh and she breathes in, deeper, deeper until the air leaves a burning sensation in her lungs, a painful tingle that catches in the back of her throat, mingles with a bitter copper taste that lingers behind her perfect white teeth, sticks under her tongue.

_(remember)_

A loud shot, then a ripping pain in her abdomen, a rupture between her ribs, and she tries to catch another breath of air, gasps and rattles while her fingers find their way to her stomach by default. She presses them on the moistened fabric and when she casts her eyes down, she can see different shades of crimson and maroon clinging between the wrinkles and creases of her skin - a thick succulent fluid that spreads on the white virgin cotton of her floating dress, drenches its threads until they're rusty and carmine.

What a strange end, she thinks and blinks several times with her eyes fixed on thick, steel-colored clouds that bar any glimpse at the bright glaucous horizon before she loses conscience. Her body collapses and the grass beds her with the softness of a mother's kiss while the wind still whispers softly in her ear.

_(remember you're dreaming)_

**ooo**

**memory**

She hides half of her face behind a black bandana that covers her nose and mouth and blends in with her obsidian hoody seamlessly. The thick mess of curls is stuck under a dark beanie while single strands fall in her front and she needs to push them back, tug them under the cap or behind her ear to keep her vision clean.

A modified sonic shotgun lies in arms length on the desk right before her and she observes with prodigious precision the way the man's eyes flicker from her frame to Draco and back again. Time rushes by while the mechanical ticking of a nearby digital clock stretches the moment on and on and she wishes she could read the thoughts of the old man. He taps his fingers in a melodic rhythm against a yellowed newspaper on top of his desk and the headline picture shows a beautiful girl with wild locks and bright eyes and the words 'Kidnapped by Phoenix Rebels' on top - she looks pointedly away.

"Why are you here Mrs. Ri-"

"Granger", she interrupts him harsh but he doesn't seem to mind it because he continues unaffected.

"Granger. Certainly you don't want to hide from your husband?", the old man's voice is gravelly, at the same time warm and comforting and she wants to trust him, wants to trust him so fucking much that she needs a second to hold her walls up.

Her tongue flickers over the sensitive flesh of her underlip, wets it before she answers, her voice firm and solid, "The truth.I want to fight for the truth."

"Truth is not measured in mass appeal," he retaliates and his tone borders to amusement, almost as if he's mocking her.

She counters immediately and the blood rushes through her veins, spreads in her cheeks until they're flushed pinkish red against her otherwise pale skin when she spits aggressively, "Truth is the only thing worth fighting for, sir." Silence spreads over the room again like a shroud and she feels Draco's tension radiating off his body in thick, dark waves. She doesn't need to cast a glance to see the muscles in his neck contract or the way his shoulders raise just the tiniest bit.

Dumbledore finally sighs and he looks exhausted, almost defeated and when he finds his voice again it's a broken, almost painful sound in her ears, "You should fight for the people Ms. Granger. The people and the world."

A sardonic laugh leaves her lips while she tugs the bandana down under her chin and when she answers the words sound hollow in her ears, without any trace of emotions left.

"The world's not safe anymore."

He doesn't object.

Neither does he speak again that night.

**ooo**

**identity protocol**

**subject: 0919 **

**insert: 0095**

Emerald gemstones are embedded in the silver badge that represents the presidential status of the capitol. It fits him perfectly, almost as if it has been forged for him alone. Warm rays of sunlight catch in the gems and glisten in different kinds of green shades - apple, lime, avocado.

She watches from afar, counts forty-eight fleur-de-lys on a long burgundy carpet while Draco holds the position right to her side, his uniform tailored and decorated with a couple of medals he holds dear.

They're the only two inside of the throne room besides the cardinal and Tom.

They don't talk.

They don't even look at each other.

Both their eyes are frozen solid on the man in front of them.

The ceremony is strenuous and she notices how her concentration slips away from time to time again while Tom's fluent honey-dripping voice fills the halls, cites the laws of the country. When it finally ends he approaches her with brisk steps, clasping his hands around her delicate face and pushes his fingers in the hollow under her jaws.

His fingertips burn holes in her skin and she welcomes his mouth with her own, presses her dry skin against his perfect dainty lips. There's a little flash of pain when he bites down on the soft cushion of her underlip but it vanishes as fast as it flares and a second later he murmurs, voice solid and orotund, "We'll conquer the world, Hermione."

She bristles while her fingers catch the rough fabric of his collar between thumb and index; she rubs it absently while she answers, "The world is not safe anymore."

Stray sunbeams blind her for a second and his voice sounds far away when he murmurs, almost breathes, "It will be again."

She looks up to the sky, her hand shielding her from the blinding light and there's an alien glint in the heavens, a cyan flicker that's gone a second later.

She almost believes him.

_(subject:0919 recovery …. 12%)_


End file.
